


and the winds had calmed

by babyfairy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, F/M, i have a major weak spot for s1 zutara, very very brief appearance by aang and sokka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10466877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyfairy/pseuds/babyfairy
Summary: He imagines letting her in, letting those nimble fingers pick her way through his skin to gather the broken parts of him to mend, in a way her skin against his whispers that she could.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Zutara fic, and my first post here! It's the first thing I've written in ages. I had it sitting on my tumblr for a few months, so I thought I'd bring it here. It was inspired by [this](http://jesterry.tumblr.com/post/149122027406/zw16lilac) beautiful piece of art by tumblr user jesterry!  
> Also, I had [Silver and Gold by City and Colour](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFVhKwtIPqc) on repeat while writing this - the title comes from it as well.

Zuko can hear the waterbender pounding on her door, the room across from his. He can hear her muffled shouting behind the steel, and he sighs quietly.

Many of his men had assumed he’d taken the girl as bait to lure the Avatar. It’s an easy enough cover that he’d latched onto; the less they questioned him, the better.

It’d be better if it were true, though.

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose, still trying to understand just what the hell he’d been thinking when he’d taken the girl.

He knows why. The memories of today still leave a sour taste in his mouth.

Whenever he encountered the Avatar’s group, their fights never ended violently. He personally made sure of that, and he felt that the Avatar did as well. Zuko wasn’t interested in hurting anyone; he just wanted to complete his mission.

He stares at the ceiling above him, trying to drown out the noise the waterbender makes across the hall, and lets his mind wander back to the event hours before, thinking it over for the umpteenth time in the last four hours.

The Prince thinks about the river the Avatar’s group had been camping beside, and the fog both he and the waterbender created as a cover when Zuko and his men were spotted.

He’d only brought a few; three tops, just to detain the waterbender and her brother while he captured the Avatar. It was supposed to be simple.

But nothing in Zuko’s life was ever simple.

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly.

Through every encounter he’s had with this ragtag group, he’s never once heard the waterbender sound so terrified. When he’d turned to find one of his men with one arm around the girl, armor pressing into her chest, and a dagger of flame raised to her throat, the world stopped for a split second.

She might as well have frozen his insides, his sudden terror at the sight was so strong.

Zuko still isn’t sure how he moved so fast, how he managed to get the soldier’s hand away from the waterbender without harming her, without burning the blue ribbon into her skin. She crumpled as soon as the man’s hold on her slackened. Zuko’s first response was to grab the soldier and toss him into the churning river, let the water carry him out of his sight. His second was to drop to his knees, to check the girl’s wrist for a pulse.

What prompted him to pick the girl up, though, he still isn’t sure. It was only after her arm draped across his shoulder, after her head lolled against his neck, that he noticed a dark, blossoming bruise at her temple. His blood had turned to ice in his veins.

So when he had returned to his ship with the Avatar’s waterbending friend in his arms, he had only received an initially stunned silence, until Uncle Iroh had covered for him.

“At least put the girl in a room with a bed until she recovers, Prince Zuko,” Uncle had said, amber eyes keen. “A cell is no place for an injured young lady.” The men around the General tittered, as if to say - oh, of course. A prisoner. Bait.

Zuko presses his lips together, shifting his feet under the blanket. His toes feel unusually chilled.

The noise across the hall stops; the waterbender has finally tired herself out.

Zuko closes his eyes. He can still feel the weight of her against his chest.

——-//——-

The next morning, Zuko moves through his basic forms on the deck under the rising sun and under the watchful eye of his Uncle.

“You seem tense still, Prince Zuko,” Uncle observes, folding his hands into his sleeves. He arches a thick, gray brow. “Perhaps you might feel better if you brought some food and water to our guest.”

“She’s not a guest,” He snaps, feeling a vein beginning to throb in his temple. “And she isn’t allowed to have water.”

Uncle purses his lips, and Zuko feels shame beginning to squirm in his chest. “You do not want the poor girl dehydrated as well as injured, Prince Zuko,” Uncle chides. “I am sure she will be more interested in quenching her thirst than bending her way off of this ship at the moment.”

Zuko exhales, glances up at the sun. He thinks of the warm, brown shades to her skin, and how pale she had been yesterday in his arms. “Fine,” He grits out, tugging his shirt back on. He can feel Uncle smiling faintly at his retreating back as he stomps below deck.

Zuko balances a tray on one hand and opens the door with the other. It’s a simple breakfast of water, rice, and mango slices. The waterbender meets his eyes immediately when he enters, hers narrowed and venomous. Silently, Zuko presents the tray, placing it on the end of her bed. A quick glance around the room tells him she’s barely moved from the bed; she’s barely even used the blankets.

The water she takes right away, emptying the cup swiftly. The rest of the contents end up on the floor with one sweep of her hand.

“You ungrateful little-” The flare of anger in his chest fizzles out all too quickly when he spots the bruise on her temple, dark and violent. His throat tightens.

Zuko leaves the room without another word.

——-//——-

It continues like this for three days.

Zuko brings the waterbender food. She only takes the water, making a mess on the floor instead. The venom in her eyes seems stronger every time he sees her.

He wants to be angry at her insolence, wants to be irritated with her terrible attitude, but the bruise hasn’t faded, and the sight of it is like a dash of cold water thrown onto his fire.

——-//——-

On the fifth day, Uncle surprises him with new information.

“Her name is Katara,” He says, and the flame Zuko punches forward dies instantly in the prince’s shock.

“You’ve been visiting her?” Zuko exclaims, his one eyebrow knitting downward. Somehow this still surprises him, though he isn’t sure why. Uncle Iroh is a well overflowing with kindness and generosity.

Uncle nods, sipping his tea. The scent of jasmine slides through the salty air around them. “Miss Katara is certain her friends are after her. She believes they will be here very soon.”

Katara. This makes sense; now that he’s thinking about it, he vaguely remembers her companions shouting it during their previous encounters.

Zuko purses his lips. “Good.” He re-centers himself, soaking up the energy the sun washes over him. “I’ll be ready when they show up, then.”

Uncle merely hums.

——-//——-

Still, Zuko continues to bring the waterbender - Katara - food, regardless of her poor manners.

Today is different.

This time, when he lets himself into her room, he finds her sitting at the very end of the bed. Her legs are drawn up, arms around her knees. She looks up when he enters, but otherwise doesn’t move.

Zuko eyes Katara warily and sets the tray down in front of her feet. Its contents remain in tact. He decides to leave before she chooses to throw them at his face instead, but before he reaches the door, she speaks up.

“Wait.”

Her voice takes him by surprise. Zuko turns enough to look over his shoulder, trying not to betray the shock and curiosity he feels.

Katara doesn’t look at him right away. She stares at her food instead. Her brow is knitted with concentration, as if she’s preparing herself to say something difficult.

“Thank you.”

Zuko starts slightly and turns properly to face the waterbender. She looks up at him finally; her expression is clear, though her blue eyes are guarded.

Katara squares her shoulders. “You did save my life,” She explains, watching him. “I haven’t forgotten that. So… Thank you. I owe you.”

He’s left speechless. His cheeks feel warm. Zuko opens his mouth, but finds his throat is tight with many emotions he isn’t sure he can identify, which irritates him. His eyes flit to Katara’s temple; the bruise is still there, but the coloring is changing, yellowing at the edges with hints of brown further in. Healing.

He leaves without a word.

——-//——-

Nearly two weeks pass without an appearance from the Avatar. But they both know it’s only a matter of time before he finds them.

Katara reminds him of this every chance she gets.

The reminder should fuel Zuko, should set him on edge, should fill him with anticipation, should -

But it doesn’t. It only makes him feel hollow.

Maybe because he’s gotten used to the waterbender’s presence. Maybe because, when she lets go of that self righteous attitude, she isn’t so unbearable.

He doesn’t know how to keep away from her, attitude or not.

The longer her stay draws on, the more time he spends in her room. She’s let her guard down enough to stop spilling her food, to allow him to linger around her. It’s… Different, to say the least. Zuko himself hasn’t been around anyone his age in years.

When she isn’t actively fighting him at every step, Katara proves to be compelling company. Her curiosity is as endless as her attitude, and sometimes she gives him whiplash with the way she bounces between both. He’s never met someone so… Open. Bold. So defiant.

Zuko doesn’t speak much, when he is in Katara’s room; he’s never been very good with words. She often fills the silence for him, and he finds he greatly enjoys listening to her voice. There’s a soothing quality to it, something in it that seems to placate the more agitated parts of him.

They’ve managed to draw circle around them, a delicate, finite thing that allows certain freedoms.

Tonight, he sits on her bed, close but not close enough, a safe foot of space between them. But she faces him now, no longer begrudges his presence when he arrives. He doesn’t allow himself to think that maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t find him totally unbearable either.

The bruise at her temple is almost gone, the barest hints of shades of yellow that can only be spotted if he searches her skin for the mark.

Tonight, she finally asks.

“Why did you save me?”

Zuko fixes his gaze on the door hinge, studies the metal work of the structure. He can feel Katara’s steady gaze on him, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” He finally explains. His voice is quiet, slipping through a rasp over some syllables. “I never want that. I’m not interested in having anyone’s blood on my hands.”

When he finally does look at Katara, he’s met with a gaze that’s pondering, lips pursed and brows furrowed; she’s considering him in a new light, caught off guard by his response. Her eyes are blue, so very blue. If he isn’t careful, he might drown in them.

He feels raw under her intense gaze.

“Capturing Aang will change that,” She says. The defiance is gone from her voice this time; her words are softer. They scratch at something deep within his chest. “He’s the only hope this world has at peace. If you take him away, things will only get worse, Zuko.”

It’s the first time she’s said his name. He closes his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to savor the sound of it. He won’t let himself recall the last time anyone spoke his name without distaste or disdain.

“You wouldn’t understand,” He murmurs. That thing in his chest stirs, unfurls its limbs to press against his ribs. She agitated it, and now it’s resumed clawing at the old, tired wounds that cover him.

Katara tips her head, frowning when Zuko slides to his feet. “Then help me,” She insists, shifting forward on her knees. “Help me understand, then.”

Zuko stops at the door. He turns to look at her over his shoulder. She looks out of place here, painfully so; her blue robes, her brown skin, her ocean eyes, always the size of a full moon, always churning, always bright. She looks like a cure in the middle of a plague.

He leaves without a word, again.

——-//——-

He is a fool to bring her up on deck, tonight of all nights.

Land is no where in sight; the ship is surrounded by water, liquid onyx under the pale, pure light of the full moon.

He knew Katara could sense it, just as he could sense the moment the sun began to rise. The restlessness in her was evident; she looked ready to crawl out of her skin when he’d entered her room. He almost couldn’t stand to see it, and so he’d made the reckless decision to allow her on the deck.

The deck, thankfully, is empty; everyone is inside, choosing the kitchens tonight for music night.

They stand side by side at the rail, closer than they’ve ever been. Something in his blood thrums.

Zuko watches Katara. He studies the way her hands are wrapped tightly around the railing, face tilted to the sky. The moon bathes her in its light, casting sharp shadows across her cheekbones, throwing her jaw into sharp definition. Her eyes - oh, her eyes. They shine so brightly, glittering moonstones under the grace of her element’s bearer.

A sharp ache flares in his chest. Zuko forces himself to look away.

“Come with me,” Katara says suddenly.

Zuko starts. “What?” He responds dumbly, looking back to her. He recognizes the mistake in this a second later.

She’s so much closer now. There’s something wild swimming deep within her eyes, something awakened by the full moon. He can’t look away, finds himself trapped; she is the ocean and he is beginning to sink into her depths.

“When Aang arrives,” Katara explains. Her voice is quiet, almost lost over the sound of the water against the ship. “Come with me. You don’t have to do this, Zuko. You could help us, you could change everything.”

She sounds so sure of her words, yet she’s so unaware of what she’s asking him to do - what she’s asking him to throw away. To abandon the only thing that will win his father’s favor again and put his life back together.

And then her hand covers his, and he finds himself sinking further, further, down to the bottom of the ocean that she is. Zuko swallows, throat flexing. Her skin is cool to the touch, a vast contrast to the fire simmering constantly in his blood.

For a moment, he lets himself imagine it. He allows himself to imagine following this girl onto the back of that flying bison, the uproar it would likely cause with her brother and her friend. He tries to imagine living without his Uncle, tries to imagine ever daring to defy his father’s orders again.

And then he imagines Katara, and imagines all of the ways she could look at him. He imagines her mouth, curved into smiles matching the tenderness in her eyes. Imagines the way her hand feels against his now, and imagines how it could feel on other parts of his body. He imagines letting her in, letting those nimble fingers pick her way through his skin to gather the broken parts of him to mend, in a way her skin against his whispers that she could.

Zuko opens his mouth, feels like he might shatter with the next breeze. Katara’s gaze pins him in place, imploring. Her fingers tighten around his.

A quiet part of his mind whispers for him to turn his hand over, to take hers and never look back. To let her in, let her help, let her put him back together.

The moment is shattered when the bison arrives, groaning to announce his arrival. Above him, the Avatar and the Watertribe boy shout Katara’s name.

Something hot tightens around Zuko’s heart.

The bison lands on deck as Zuko whips around. Behind him, Katara cries, “Sokka! Aang!” Her shoulder brushes his as she hurries to them, and he feels inexplicably chilled by the touch.

She throws herself into her brother’s arms. The Avatar stands before them, poised in a fighting stance, gray eyes narrowed, but Zuko can only watch the waterbender behind him.

Katara turns around, still locked in her brother’s embrace. She meets the prince’s eyes, a silent plea in hers. Her gaze is silver under the light of the moon. Her hand begins to lift.

Zuko turns away. He swallows the bitter taste in his mouth as he hears her brother ushering everyone into the saddle, listens to the sound of them leaving before he can change his mind.

The memory of Katara’s touch lingers against the back of his hand, chilling him to the bone. The wounds in his chest feel so much more raw now, that thing locked in there wailing and raging against his ribs.

He knows he will see them again. He knows that, next time, he won’t hold back. His heart can’t afford to gamble on the hope her blue eyes offered him.


End file.
